Love, Life, and Drinking Ale
by ThoseWhoWander98
Summary: Frodo Gamgee is certain his life won't change after his twentieth birthday. But the arrival of a new hobbit in town may change him more than he ever could have anticipated.
1. Chapter 1

_THE LONGEST AUTHOR NOTE EVER: Before somebody tells me that 20 in hobbit years is like 13 for us and who falls in love at 13, I want to explain my hobbit age theory. Hobbits only come of age at 33 because they live longer. It's not because at 33 they have the maturity of an 18 year old. I believe that hobbits mature mentally/emotionally the same way humans do, they just measure time differently._

_I also imagine that hobbit-women remain fertile longer than human women, until they're about eighty or seventy years old. So in my mind, hobbits don't usually marry until after they turn thirty-three. This ties in with the idea that after reaching adulthood, hobbits physically age more slowly than humans. This makes sense, because of the whole life expectancy of one hundred thing. Do not feel obligated to agree with me, that's just the basis under which this fan-fiction was written._

_Also, you may notice that I have listed the ages of Sam's children underneath. That is how old they each are in the story. If any of the ages are non-canon, please forgive me. These ages just worked best with the flow of the story._

_Written to many songs. I don't take credit for any of them. The artists are amazing, the songs fit the story. Ergo, I used them! So look underneath the chapter titles for the songs each chapter was written to. The song for the entire story is _Honey and the Bee_ by Owl City. So search .com for the songs, and listen to them. Cause they're all GREAT SONGS and they help to make the story... better. For lack of a better word._

_Golly gee, that author's note was long. I should probably let you read the story now... unless you want to listen to me ramble? What! No? Okay, then. Enjoy and remember: reviews are better than an alert and a favourite put together. But I wouldn't object to all three!_

Elanor: 22

Frodo: 20

Rose: 19

Merry&Pippin: 16—almost seventeen.

Goldilocks: 15 ½

Hamfast: 13

Daisy: 11

Primrose: 9

Bilbo: 7

Ruby&Robin: 5

Tolman/Tom: 2

CHAPTER ONE: JUST A SMALL AFFAIR

_Song: Hit the Lights by Selena Gomez_

"It's twenty, Da, not thirty-three. There's no need to make a big deal about it," Frodo argued with Sam as they came into Bag End. "Besides, you don't make this big a deal about any of the others' birth-days." Sam had been showing him the ropes of the garden, because he had hardly any time to garden, being Mayor and all. Frodo loved his father's garden and being in it. He'd always wanted to learn to garden like his Da did.

Sam swatted his son in a friendly way. "Twenty _is_ a big deal, Frodo. You're a tween now. An active member of the community. When Rose, Merry and Pippin, Goldilocks, Hamfast, Daisy, Primrose, Bilbo, the twins, and Tom turn twenty, I'll get on their cases about big parties, too." He grinned at his son.

"Da, all that's going to happen is I'll be allowed into the taverns now. Nothing exciting." It was seriously difficult to impress Frodo when it came to excitement.

Sam laughed heartily. "Don' tell me that bein' able to go out for a drink after a long hot day ain't exciting, Frodo, boy," he said. "But if you want a small affair, we'll have one. Just a few folks."

Frodo sighed in relief. "Thanks, Da."

Frodo had been dreading turning twenty since Elanor had two years previously. Sam had insisted on a big party—the affair had been chaotic and troublesome. Frodo didn't like to make a big deal out of things that he didn't view as important – and he certainly didn't think turning twenty was important. He didn't quite trust his father to follow through with his promise to keep the party small, and it was for that reason that the next day, his twentieth birthday, Frodo was not surprised to come home to a crowd of people, tables full of food, and the loud, dancing music of Fastred Brownfot playing his fiddle.

Rosie greeted him at the entrance to the yard with an apologetic grin. "It's spectacular, isn't it? I know it's not quite what you imagined, but your father simply wouldn't be denied. At least he didn't go quite as overboard as he did with Elanor," she added sympathetically. "You don't have to stay for the whole thing—just say hello to everyone, and then you can disappear," she whispered. "Have fun!"

Frodo squirmed his way into the party, which was large enough to fill most of the large yard, including the garden. People he knew only in passing greeted him, friends of his parents remarked on how much he'd grown. There was one person in particular he was looking for, but he couldn't spot him anywhere.

"Frodo Gamgee!" Frodo spun around with a smile on his face; he'd recognize that light, merry voice anywhere.

"Uncle Pippin!" Though they weren't actually related, Frodo referred to Merry and Pippin as uncles, and had since he was a child. "Where's Faramir?" Faramir was one of Frodo's closest friends, but he lived with Pippin outside of Hobbiton so they didn't see each other often.

"Where do you think, son? He's by the food! My, how tall you've gotten! You must be four feet now, are you?" Frodo nodded with a flash of pride. He was rather tall, for a hobbit.

"Nice seeing you, Uncle Pippin! I'd better go—Ma wants me to say hello to _everybody!_" Frodo dashed off toward a table piled up with wheels of cheese and crusty loaves of bread. Faramir, a hobbit almost two years younger than Frodo, was standing, chewing with concentration on a large bite of bread. Faramir resembled his father greatly; he was tall for a hobbit and had nearly golden hair framing his angular face. When he spotted Frodo he grinned and his bright eyes lit up.

"Frodo! Happy birth-day!" Faramir cried, giving Frodo a quick one-armed squeeze. "Guess what?"

Frodo laughed, happy to be with his friend once more. "What?" he yelled over the cacophony of the party. "Don't tell me you've gotten into trouble with your mother again!" Faramir had a habit of always being able to get on his mother's nerves. Even when he was helping her out of his own free will, he always managed to mess something up. It didn't particularly bother him, and the fact that the two didn't get along was the subject of many jokes among his family and his friends.

Faramir shook his head with a chuckle. "Nah. But Da's going to Gondor to visit King Elessar for a while and I'm s'posed to be stayin' with you! Ma says you have room, but I doubt it. What, are there fifteen of you now?"

Frodo nodded, replying, "Yes, counting Ma and Da. We'll fit you in somewhere, though. Why Da didn't tell me before, I wonder," he added as an afterthought.

Faramir shrugged carelessly. "Probably meant to tell you after the party. It'll be about a month before I move in and I'll be there probably half a year or so... Hey, Frodo, you goin' to ask any of those pretty lasses to dance?" he asked, realizing that the music had picked up into a lively tune and that many couples were twirling merrily around the yard.

Frodo shook his head. "Nope. I think I'm just going to leave well enough alone. Easier than asking. Some of those girls... well, what can I say? They're not normal, Faramir, not normal at all. Talk to you later?"

"For sure! I'd better go now though. The song's half over!" The two friends parted happily.

Frodo had to admit, the big party was fun for a long time. But by the time the sky was completely dark and sprinkled with stars, Frodo was tired and his head was pounding with the sound of loud conversation, music, and the occasional echo of drunken laughter from the older hobbits. After a harried conversation with his father ("Having fun, m'boy?" "Shockingly, I am. Thanks, Da." "See? Always trust your Da to make the right decisions when it comes to entertainin', Frodo." "Sure, Da."), Frodo slipped out the yard gate and away from Bag End, into the quiet night.

He made his way down the road in the dark, heading towards a little creek where he liked to go and be alone. He had discovered it as a young boy and he had even built a little bench there to sit on. It was relatively private, being hidden in a grove of old leafy trees and it was quiet, the only sound being the babble of the water as it bubbled over pebbles at the bottom of the creek.

To Frodo's surprise, there was already somebody sitting on his little bench, at his little creek. He didn't recognize her, but she looked to be about his age, with gingery, flyaway hair, and a sturdy, solid frame. All of a sudden, she turned around to face him, revealing a round and flat freckled face with shining blue eyes.

"I'm so sorry..." he said awkwardly. "I didn't know anybody else knew this creek was here."

The girl laughed. "I figured somebody else knew about it, because the bench was here. I just didn't imagine you'd show up. I thought everybody in town was at that party."

"Almost everybody is," Frodo admitted. "It's supposed to be for me, but I got away. Say, who are you? I haven't seen you in Hobbiton before," he explained. "Also, if you'd lived here long, you'd be at the party. My Da took no limitations in who he invited!"

The girl grinned and it lit up her wide face. "I'm Elossa Spinner, of Bree. My Ma died a while ago and my Da moved us down here. I don't think he could bear being in Bree without her. She was the only reason we stayed. He'd always wanted to live in an all-hobbit town, but Ma insisted," Elossa said, her smile faltering as she talked about her mother.

Frodo sat down beside her. "I'm sorry." After a long pause, he continued. "I'm Frodo Gam—Gardner." He didn't know why he gave her the name that the townspeople knew his father by, only that it had a distinctive sound, and a much better ring than Gamgee. Gardner. Frodo Gardner. He liked it. "I've lived here my whole life. My Da's mayor. I guess I'm obliged to say, welcome to town, Ms Spinner! On behalf of the mayor."

Elossa grinned half-heartedly. "Well, thank you, Mr Gardner. It's nice to have somebody in town who knows I'm here."

"You should come to the party. It's not over yet, and you can meet some people—well, all the people, really," Frodo said. But Elossa shook her head.

"Thanks, but no thanks. I think I'll stay here. I mean, don't take it personally—I'm just not a party person. But I'll see you around?"

Frodo nodded. "Oh, trust me, I know all about not being a party person. Unfortunately, I have to return or Ma will have my hide, so... see you." He got up from the bench and shook her hand before heading off back to Bag End.

"Elossa Spinner," he whispered as he strode down the bumpy, curving road. The words rolled off his tongue easily, naturally, as though he had been saying her name his entire life. "An interesting character, for sure." Frodo had a habit of talking to himself when he had something to ponder, and this new arrival in Hobbiton was something to ponder, indeed. Hardly anybody new ever came to town, and the fact that Elossa's arrival had gone largely unnoticed was remarkable. Of course, Frodo thought, all he had to do was tell a few people and that would be remedied. It was amazing how quickly news travelled in Hobbiton.

Frodo sighed as he slipped back into the party crowd. It looked like it would be a few more hours before the hobbits began to disperse, and already he was craving more alone time to think. Instead, he went through the motions of enjoying himself, all the while turning the encounter with the new hobbit over and over in his mind.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO: NOTORIOUS GOSSIPS

_Song: Welcome to my Life by Simple Plan_

Dawn woke Frodo up abruptly the next day. He rolled over unhappily in his bed, groggy and not eager to get up. The sun was shining through his round window and onto his face, however, and he was certain that he wouldn't be able to sleep any longer, so he threw the covers off of himself and rolled out of bed.

The clock ticking on the wall read 7:30. Frodo was expected to be helping his father in the garden by eight, so he yanked on a pair of brown trousers with a few colourful patches, a loose white shirt and a bright blue jacket before heading into the kitchen to see if Elanor or his mother had begun to cook breakfast yet.

The smell of sizzling sausage floated through the air even before Frodo reached the kitchen. When he got there, Rosie was piling up fifteen plates with first breakfast, sausage and steaming hot slices of bread and butter. Frodo sat down in between his father and older sister just in time to be served. Rosie tried to give him a stern look, but she couldn't suppress a slight smile as she said, "You're late, Frodo. And a Gamgee is never late for breakfast."

"Yeah, Frodo," Merry said, snatching the salt. "A Gamgee is _never_ late! Are you saying you aren't one of us?"

"Frodo's not a Gamgee, Frodo's not a Gamgee!" Bilbo echoed. As one of the youngest Gamgees, he had taken to repeating everything Merry said over and over again. Oftentimes, Ruby and Robin joined in, which is what they did now. Soon all the youngest members of the family were teasing Frodo, and he laughed along with them, knowing that they were only bothering him because they could.

"Children, children, leave Frodo alone!" Rosie said, laughing as well. Her already pinkish cheeks were flushed red with her amusement. "It's the least you can do. I didn't see any of you helping clean up last night."

"Only because you sent us to bed!" Pippin cried indignantly. "You only let Rose and Elanor and Frodo stay up! It wasn't fair. We'd have helped if you'd let us stay awake late enough."

"Oh, yes, I'm sure you would have," Rose said, flicking her brother on the side of the head. "I'm sure you wouldn't have just eaten until your buttons burst and then fallen asleep in the grass. Because that certainly has never happened at a party before, Pippin Gamgee!"

"Rose, leave your brother alone," Sam said, cutting his sausage. "Stop arguin', and eat your breakfast or I'll have all of you do the dishes!"

After that, nobody poked fun out loud again, although Pippin did stick his tongue out at Rose and Merry rolled his eyes at Frodo.

After breakfast, Frodo followed Sam outside and into the garden. The grass was slightly trampled from the party the previous night, but none of the flowers or bushes were harmed for the most part and the trees were fine. It was late summer and the berries were ripe, and the apples were almost ready to be picked. A lot of the flowers were just starting to wither, but the roses and the marigolds were in their prime. It was a hot day, and the first thing Sam did was fetch two watering cans, one for himself and one for Frodo.

Before long, Frodo was sweating and he shrugged off his jacket and left it hanging over the edge of the well. They had made a lot of progress on the garden—the grass was trimmed, the weeds were pulled, and they'd picked nearly three baskets worth of blueberries, raspberries and red currents. When about half of the berry bushes were picked clean, Sam said, "Let's take a break, Frodo. You've worked hard today for someone who was up so late last night." He went over to the well and pulled up a bucket of chilly water. The two sat on the bench in silence for a while before Frodo spoke up.

"There's a new hobbit-family in town, Da," he said. "They've been here almost two weeks and nobody's said anything yet. Don't you think that's bizarre?"

Sam shrugged. "Well, Frodo, I suppose that these hobbits are busy this time of year getting ready to harvest their crops. They aren't as nosy as they might be. And if the family was small, and kept to itself... yes, I can see how it could be done. Of course, if I tell your mother and she brings it up with one of her friends, then I can't see how they'd stay secret for long. Say, how do you know about this family, Frodo?"

This was the awkward part. Frodo had known it would come but he hadn't been looking forward to it. "Well, you see, Da, I kind of left the party for a while last night. And I was walking, and... I met this girl. About my age, says her name is Elossa Spinner. And I tell her I don't recognize her, so she tells me she's from Bree, and her father moved her here after her mother died. And she says nobody's noticed them yet. It just struck me as unusual," he added.

"It's strange," Sam admitted. "Why didn't you invite her to the party? She could have met some people, eaten... maybe danced a little," he added with a sly smile. Frodo rolled his eyes.

"What is that supposed to mean? And for your information, I did invite her. It's not my fault she didn't come," Frodo said defensively.

Sam furrowed his brow. "It's not supposed to mean anything! Come on, let's go inside. Your mother should have something ready by now," he said, in a way that sounded like he really wanted to change the subject all of a sudden. Frodo wasn't an idiot—he knew his father assumed that he liked this girl, and was insulted that she hadn't come to the party, but most of all he was just puzzled. He had thought he was the only hobbit, ever, not to like a chance to gossip, talk, eat, and make a mess that someone else would clean up. It was peculiar that he should meet another hobbit so like himself, when he was obviously so strange, was all.

Frodo sighed. He hoped Elossa wouldn't mind being known in the town, because now that he'd told Sam about her, chances were the news would travel fairly quickly. Sam would tell Rosie, who would tell her friends, who would pass the news onto their husbands, who would finish the job by telling all the folks that hadn't heard yet. It was likely that Elossa and her father would be the subject of gossip in Hobbiton for the rest of the week at least. Frodo felt a twinge of guilt at not putting in any effort to keep the news relatively low-key, but he shoved it aside. His mother was cooking something inside, and right now all he really wanted to focus on was the moment: dirt on his hands, sun on his face, and he smell of something roasting drifting out of the windows.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE: A HEART-TO-HEART WITH A RANDOM STRANGER

_Song: I'd Lie by Taylor Swift_

The following few weeks passed uneventfully. True to Frodo's predictions, turning twenty had changed practically nothing about his everyday lifestyle. He hadn't even been to a pub yet when one day Morimac Barnstaple, a twenty-something hobbit farmer's son from down the road appeared at the door of Bag End when Frodo, Elanor, and Rose were at home, "taking care of" the younger Gamgees (although they were really talking amongst themselves. Merry and Pippin and sometimes Goldilocks usually kept the little ones under control and the youngest were napping, so it could hardly be called strenuous work).

The knock on the door came sometime in the early afternoon. "I've got it," Rose said, heaving herself up from the armchair where she sat sewing a quilt. Rose was particularly adept at all things needlework: sewing, knitting, embroidering. By the time she was fifteen, she had taken over most of the sewing in the Gamgee household.

"I wonder who it could be," Elanor voiced her thoughts, frowning. Frodo shrugged.

"Maybe somebody wants to see Da. They're going to be awfully disappointed when Rose tells him he's not in," Frodo answered, stifling a yawn. The entire day had been lazy and he felt himself getting tired.

At that moment, Rose led a somewhat rotund, pleasant-faced hobbit with pale brown hair into the room. "He should be home in less than an hour," she was saying. "Is that all right? Shall I make some tea, Mr. Barnstaple?"

"That's fine, Ms. Gamgee. And tea would be lovely. I like it strong!" he added. "Weak tea is for a weak heart, my Da always told me."

"Morimac?" Frodo asked. He didn't know him very well, but he'd seen him around. "Why are you here? Not that it isn't a pleasure to have you," he added for the sake of being polite, "but you never come 'round here."

"I need to speak with the mayor," Morimac replied, taking a large mug of steaming hot tea from Rose. "My Da sent me. I'm supposed to ask him about when that new grain mill is going to be finished. We think we've got too much wheat this year, you see," he explained.

Frodo nodded. "Well, he won't be home for a while. Best make yourself comfortable." They sat in silence for a long time before Elanor spoke.

"I haven't heard anything from the other room in nearly fifteen minutes," she observed with a touch of concern in her voice. "I'd better go make sure that they aren't killing each other in there. I feel like that might bother Ma just a bit." She rose from her chair an glided into the other room. "Rose, come with?" Rose followed her, leaving Frodo and Morimac alone in the room.

After another long moment, Morimac said, "Does it bother you that your sister is so beautiful? I mean, people must tell you about it all the time. It would start to grate on my nerves," he pointed out. Frodo shrugged.

"It's really more that so many people think she's all beauty, but she's really very kind. Not the brightest, but she's got such a good heart. Hardly any hobbit sees though, because she's, you know, gorgeous." Elanor the Fair, as she was called, didn't much resemble either her mother or father. She had her mother's blue eyes, but her hair was the colour of golden wheat and her skin soft and pale, even on her hands, where it should have been calloused and darkened by hard work. She was delicately built, for a hobbit, and just an inch or so taller than any other maidens her age. She had a naturally imperial way of carrying herself, too, so you couldn't help but look at her and feel that she should be in charge. "As her brother, I suppose it does upset me a little bit, but I've gotten used to it."

Morimac nodded in understanding. "Well, I'm just glad I haven't got any sisters. No obligation to protect, if you know what I mean. Especially the younger ones."

Frodo knew what Morimac meant. Of course, Hobbiton wasn't a very dangerous place, but every time Rose pricked herself sewing, or some young, feisty hobbit winked at his older sister he always got that familiar fire in the pit of his stomach, slow, dully burning away, telling him to _do_ something about it. "Not obligation, so much as instinct," Frodo muttered.

"What was that?" Morimac asked, draining the last of his tea.

"I said," Frodo told him, rather unnecessarily loudly, "not an obligation so much as an instinct. It's unconscious, you know. I actually feel sort of sorry for Elanor... Merry, Pip and I will probably seriously injure anybody who mistreats her. No fun for our sister." He chuckled. "As though we'd ever need to protect her. Elanor may be no genius, but she's got a sensible head on her shoulders and she'd never do anything that would upset Ma or Da, not willingly."

"Remember, Frodo," Morimac replied cautiously, "that it might not be willingly that she needs protection. You underestimate the cruelty of some. Just don't let her marry a drunkard."

"She won't get hit!" Frodo protested, although he knew inside that it was an ever-waiting danger. The chances of it were slim as the chances of snow in summer, but it could happen. The thought sent chills down his arms and legs and lit up the fire in his stomach.

"You worry about her?" Morimac asked. Before Frodo could answer, the round green door that was the entrance to Bag End swung open and Sam, tired-eyed but smiling, stepped inside.

"Frodo, m'boy!" he cried out. "What's Mr. Barnstaple's lad doing here?" he asked, confusion crinkling his brow, which was already lined with laughter.

"He wants to talk to you about the new mill, Da—his father sent him," Frodo explained, rising from his chair. "When's Ma coming back from the Greensoil's?"

Sam shrugged. "Sometime this evening. Frodo, can you go see what your siblings are up to? I think Mr Barnstaple and I need to have a chat!"

"Morimac is fine, Mr Gamgee..."

"Now, Mr Barnstaple, if we're talking as equals we're either both misters or both on a first-name basis, so I'll need you to choose..."

The conversation died away as Frodo slipped into the other room. To his surprise, everything was under control. Ruby, Robin and Tom were huddled up asleep in Ruby and Robin's bed, Bilbo and Primrose were quietly rolling a ball back and forth across the floor, Daisy, Hamfast, and Goldilocks were caught up in a game of cards with Pippin and Merry, and Elanor and Rose were talking amongst themselves, calmly overseeing the entire scene. Frodo grinned, impressed.

"Frodo!" Rose said. "Did Mori... that is, did Mr Barnstaple like his tea?"

Frodo chuckled. "Yes, Rose, he did. You can be proud of yourself, though everyone knows you make a good cuppa. Why so set on impressing the fellow?" he asked, and Rose's cheeks went pink.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about," she replied, staring at her sewing.

Elanor elbowed her sister gently. "Rose, that's absurd, you've been going on about him for the past half hour," she pointed out, and Frodo laughed.

"He's nearly six years older than you!"

"Frodo Gamgee, you be quiet, or I'll tell Da that you snuck away from the party a few weeks ago to meet some girl."

"For your information, he already knows I left, and I did not go to meet Ms Spinner, I went and bumped into her!" Though both protests were true, Frodo found his cheeks heating up at the mention of Elossa. He shook her face out of his mind and swatted Rose on the head, making her miss a stitch.

"Frodo, look what you've done!" she cried.

"SHH!" came from across the room. It was Merry. "You'll wake the babies."

Being reprimanded by their younger brother put Frodo and Elanor over the edge, and they both burst into laughter while Rose gaped at them indignantly. It was a long time before they managed to stop, and when they did, Rose lectured them, which only made them laugh again. It was the best kind of laughter, too, the kind where you aren't exactly sure why you're laughing, but you're out of breath and your face is red and your chest tight. It had been rather a long time since Frodo had laughed like that, he realized. He resolved to do it more often. It was good fun.

Frodo left the room with his siblings just in time to see Morimac leave. As he was heading out the door, he suddenly turned around and said to Frodo, "Me and a couple others are headed off to the pub tomorrow night. You should meet us there, the Green Dragon. Say, eight o'clock?"

Frodo frowned for a moment. He didn't know Morimac very well, and he'd never been invited to grab a drink before, but he figured it was all in good fun. After all, what could go wrong?

"Sure," he replied. "I'll be there."

"Great!" said Morimac. "See you then. Good-bye!"


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR: LONG TIME, NO SEE

_Song: Falling For You by Colbie Caillat _

The following day was damp and rainy, and as a result Frodo was less than pleased when Rosie insisted he take two freshly baked loaves of bread across Hobbiton to the Spinners' place. When he protested, she only waved him away. "They've been living here for weeks and we still haven't welcomed them proper," she argued, shoving the basket of baking into Frodo's reluctant arms. He could still feel the heat radiating off of the bread.

Frodo put on his warmest jacket before heading out, but he was still soaking wet and shivering by the time he was knocking on the Spinner's blue door. After thirty seconds or so, Elossa opened the door and gasped. "Mr Gardner? Oh, you must be freezing... come in, come in." She ushered him inside and took off his sopping coat to hand before leading him into a round, pleasant (and _warm_) sitting room with two squashy armchairs and a table with a wheel of cheese and a few sausages sitting on it.

"Ms Spinner," he said, after she made him sit down by the merrily crackling fire, "Ma... well, I was supposed to bring you this." He handed her the basket of bread and then chuckled. "I hope it's all right. My little sister made it, you see, Goldilocks, and she's not very adept at baking."

Elossa shook her head. "I'm sure it'll be fine, Mr Gardner." She took out the bread and lay it beside the cheese and meat. " Mm, still warm. Here, eat something. It's the least I can do, and I haven't seen you in ages."

Frodo bit his lip. Elossa was treating him like an old friend, but they'd only met once. "Well, I've been around, you know?"

"Yes, me too," she replied awkwardly, not meeting his eye. "Around." She smiled slightly. Frodo remembered that she'd talked a lot when the met, but quietly—the sort of person who knew lots of people, but was only close to a couple.

"So, where's your Da?" he asked.

"Sleeping," Elossa replied, cutting a slice of cheese and putting it on a piece of bread before forcing it into Frodo's hand. "Go on, eat," she said. "It's not poisoned."

"Actually, I'd better not," Frodo told her, standing up. "It's a bit of a walk home and Ma wants me back for supper. Thanks for everything, though."

Elossa looked somewhat disappointed as she went to hand Frodo his things. "So soon. Well, I guess I'll see you around, then, Mr Gardner."

Frodo nodded. "You should, er, drop in sometime. Bag End. Big green door, can't miss it. Er, we'd all be pleased to have you." _Frodo, you fool,_ he thought. _Did you really just invite a girl over? What's Da going to say? More importantly, what are your sisters going to say? _

Elossa smiled. "I'd like that." She handed Frodo his jacket and as she did her fingers brushed his. Frodo pulled his hand away, meeting her eyes for only a split second before looking elsewhere. He felt his cheeks heat up slightly.

"Well, good-bye," he said, opening the door. The rain had lessened somewhat, but the road was muddy and disgusting.

"'Bye," Elossa replied. "I'll see you." Frodo felt her eyes on his back as he left, a fact that gave him an unexplainable feeling of pleasure, pride, in his chest. He walked a little more upright on his way home and he could still almost feel the tips of Elossa's fingers on his, a crackling on his skin. Maybe being sent to deliver bread wasn't such a bad thing after all.

That night, the pub was ruckus, loud, chaotic, and crowded—all the things Frodo hated. Yet, strangely, he liked the feeling of sitting at the small round wooden table with Morimac and his two friends, a rather pale hobbit named Rubo Greenpark, and a gingery-haired hobbit, shorter than the average, named Fredoc Starsbroc. Morimac's friends had welcomed Frodo happily and it turned out they were pleasant hobbits, easy to talk to and pleasant, although Frodo didn't like either of them as much as he liked Morimac. Before Frodo could protest, however, Rubo had ordered everybody large mugs of ale.

It wasn't long before a smiley barmaid whisked past the table and set a tray with three foaming mugs down. Frodo took his and peered into it curiously. He felt a tad naive, which was unfamiliar for him, being the older sibling. After watching the others all take generous swigs from their mugs, he took a small sip himself.

It was curiously enjoyable. The taste was fruity with an edge of bitterness, which Frodo, not being an idiot, could tell was from the alcohol. As he swallowed, a warmth seemed to grow in the pit of his stomach and the taste stayed in his mouth for a long time. Eagerly, he took a slightly larger sip. Sam had been right; this was exciting.

"Well, Frodo?" Morimac asked. He had been told by Sam that it was Frodo's first time in a pub, and he seemed to be enjoying watching Frodo's reaction to the ale. "How do you like it? Good, eh?" Frodo nodded, setting his mug back down on the table with a clunk.

"Actually, yes. Better than I thought it would be at any rate," Frodo said.

Fredoc laughed and elbowed Frodo in a friendly way. "Ah, you've got a lot to learn, young one," he said, his wide face grinning.

Rubo took another swig of his ale and stifled a burp. "Fred, he's only five years younger than you," he pointed out. "He's hardly a 'young one'."

Fredoc shook his head. "Anybody who's never had a good mug of Golden Apple ale is a young one in my book, Rubo!"

Frodo wiped his brow. The pub was humid and he was sweating and uncomfortable, yet somehow, with the taste of ale tingling on his tongue and three people he was just getting to know sitting around him, he felt inexplicably happy. He'd only felt this happy as a little boy, and, he realized, earlier that day...

He pushed that thought out of his mind. He wasn't even on first-name terms with Elossa.

The four hobbits spent the night at the pub, and by the time they left, it was raining again. They bid good-bye to each other on the steps of the pub and agreed to meet again the following week. They didn't know it, but this would become a habit that stayed with them the rest of their lives.

Frodo shivered slightly as he began to make the walk home in the cold and the dark. There were no shadows except those cast by light from windows, but the night was still eerie and spooky. Frodo was thankful when he made it home. It was late, and only his father still sat by the fire, bent over the large red leather book that contained all Mr Frodo's stories. It seemed to Frodo that he was writing, but he didn't ask, only greeted his father and then slipped into his bedroom, a small but cosy space off Bag End's main hallway.

Frodo's dreams that night were uncommon, because he remembered one of them in excruciating detail. He dreamed of Elossa, mostly, of her laughing eyes. They weren't, however laughing happily. They laughed with cruelty at him as he burned from the inside out, watching her stand hand-in-hand with Fredoc.

He woke up disturbed and covered in a sheen of sweat before rolling over in his bed and falling back into a fitful sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE: SQUEEZE YOU IN SOMEWHERE

_Song: Two is Better Than One by Boys Like Girls feat. Taylor Swift_

The following week, Uncle Pippin and his wife, a curvaceous, nut-haired lady named Diamond left Faramir and his things at Bag End early on a strangely chilly, bright morning. Frodo had only just woken up, but he ushered his friend inside as he rubbed sleep out of his eyes. "Hello, Faramir," he greeted his friend, trying to stifle a yawn. "You're up early."

Inside, Faramir's arrival had woken everybody else and they were all in the living room, sleepy. Sam was struggling to quiet a wailing Tom, who did not take kindly at being woken before seven. As Faramir and Frodo lugged Faramir's things inside, Rosie pressed one palm to her cheek. "Oh, my," she said, sounding somewhat distressed. "Oh, no matter, we'll fit you into Frodo's room somehow," she assured Faramir. However, it sounded like she was really assuring herself. Faramir shot her an uncertain smile.

"Well, you lads take Faramir's things to your room, Frodo, and then come out here again and we'll have some sort of early breakfast, all right?" Everybody was pro-food, so Frodo and Faramir left.

After some rearranging and a fair bit of cursing, they managed to make room for all of Faramir's things. Frodo flopped down on the bed, exhausted. He was not accustomed to moving his furniture at six-forty-five in the morning. Faramir lay down beside him.

"I don't know why," Faramir began, "People make beds... so... dratted _heavy!_"

Frodo laughed. "It's probably my fault, I knew you were coming today... I should have made room myself," he admitted, wiping sweat off his forehead. "Sorry."

Faramir shook his head. "Eh, it's no matter, Frodo. Though I can't pretend to be happy about rearranging your room." He sat up and stretched. "Should we head in to breakfast?" Frodo shook his head.

"Are you kidding? It won't be ready for another half-hour, not with Ma having to keep all the littles in line. Nah, if you want to keep your sanity you'd best stay here," he said with a chuckle.

But Faramir insisted. "Come on, I haven't seen your family in weeks. Let's go!" Frodo sighed, heaving himself up from the bed. It was a lost arguement.

"Fine, but let's get on with it then," he said.

True to Frodo's prediction, breakfast was a long time coming. Nevertheless, Faramir managed to keep them all entertained by playing with Tom and the twins, while at the same time managing to make small talk about just about anything with the rest of the family: the less-than-favourable weather (I mean, I know it's nearly autumn, but is it too much to ask for a day that actually feels like summer?), the harvest that was nearly upon them, the departure of his parents, the arrival of the Spinners (at this Frodo got up to go and check the sausage, keeping his back turned to everybody—especially his siblings), and so on and so forth.

The day was an enjoyable one with Faramir around—he and Frodo went out to the garden and Faramir watched Frodo pick berries for an hour. Then after lunch they went roaming about Hobbiton, heads bent against the wind, jackets pulled tight around them. They went to the river and threw rocks for a while, talking.

"So, you like it here?" Frodo asked Faramir, lobbing a round grey stone into the middle of the river, where it made ripples that extended out almost to the shore. Faramir grinned and nodded.

"Hey, I bet I can throw my rock across to the other bank," he challenged.

"You cannot!" Frodo cried, incredulous.

Faramir scoffed. "Of course I can. I bet I can!" Frodo rolled his eyes.

"Let's see it, then." Faramir stepped up to the edge of the back, where the ground dropped straight into the frigid flowing waters. He swung his arm back and let the stone go. It flew across the river and straight into the grasses on the other side, but Faramir was knocked off-balance by the follow-through. He teetered on the edge of the bank for one precarious second before plunging into the river. Luckily, it wasn't deep, and Faramir didn't fall far from the bank. Frodo watched in shock as he grabbed hold of a tree root that protruded out over the river and hoisted himself up onto solid ground.

"Are you all right?" Frodo asked, rushing towards the shivering Faramir. To his surprise, his friend was laughing.

"Yes... yes!" The words came between spurts of merry laughter. "Freezing cold, but... snakes and adders, that was dratted fun!" He looked at Frodo and a devilish grin spread across his face. Frodo, realizing what Faramir was thinking, cried out,

"Oh, no, you don't!" and tore away down the road back to Bag End. Faramir chased after him, compelling Frodo to run faster. He was fast, for a hobbit, being rather small and slight compared to Faramir's bulkier frame. The wind stung his face as he ran and he felt himself feeling a little bit sorry for the soaking wet Faramir—but only a little bit.

By the time the two reached Bag End, Faramir had given up the chase and they were both out of breath. Frodo leaned against the mailbox, panting and laughing lightly at the same time. "Here," he said breathlessly to Faramir, "give me your jacket. We'd best hang it up now and avoid the worst of the wrath of Rosie Cotton Gamgee!" Frodo draped the coat over the mailbox and then opened the door.

Frodo had only just sat down after helping dry Faramir off when there was a knock at the door. Before anybody else could volunteer to answer it he stood up and walked to the door. When he swung it open he could have slapped himself. Did she really have to take him up on his offer right now, today, when his entire family was home? "Hello, Mr Gardner," Elossa said with a smile. "May I come in?"

Frodo bit his lip. "Well, that depends, Ms Spinner. Do you want to be ridiculed endlessly by my family? Or do you want to go out to the garden?" He scanned her face—were her freckles disappearing?

"Oh, tough choice, Mr Gardner," Elossa said with a sarcastic bite in her voice. "I think I'll have to go for garden." Frodo grinned and grabbed his warmest jacket off of one of the many coat hooks protruding from the wall.

"Well, then, let's go," Frodo replied smoothly, slipping out the door and shutting it behind him. The day was still chilly and the sun was starting to fall low in the sky—it was nearly supper-time. He led Elossa down the narrow dirt path around the hill and into the garden. He gestured towards a small wooden bench on the far side. "Well? Sit down," he told her.

Elossa obeyed and Frodo sat down beside her. It didn't slip his notice that the size of the bench forced them to sit close enough together that their thighs were touching lightly. Frodo turned towards Elossa and surveyed her face before speaking.

"So, Ms Spinner, what brings you here?" He raised his eyebrows as he looked at her, awaiting her answer.

Elossa smiled slightly and looked away. "It's Elossa, Mr Gardner," she said with a light chuckle. She turned back to Frodo and her bright blue eyes bored into his. "And I'm to tell you thanks for the bread."

"Come on," Frodo pried playfully. "That can't be the only reason. And if you're to be Elossa, then I'm to be Frodo, not Mr Gardner."

Elossa elbowed Frodo in mock annoyance and he smiled involuntarily. "You want another reason, _Frodo_?" Frodo nodded matter-of-factly. "All right, then. I wanted to tell you that I saw your oldest sister—what's her name again? The pretty one—the other day and she wanted me to drop by. So I did."

Frodo felt anger flare in his chest. '_ELANOR DID WHAT?'_ he wanted to scream. But he didn't. He forced out a laugh. "Did she?" his voice sounded tight, even to himself.

Elossa grinned, and the smile stretched across her entire face, lighting up her eyes. Frodo could tell she wasn't buying his act, and he found the look of superior pride on her face amusing, and slightly adorable. "Does your sister bother you often, Frodo?" Frodo shook his head.

"Nah. But she is my sibling, so she's obligated to get on my nerves every once in a while. It's not that I didn't want you to come, it's just that I didn't want you to come when my family would be home—the majority, at least. They've got a habit of poking fun," he explained.

Elossa nodded, but rolled her eyes. "Well, I want to meet them, whether they think we're in love or not," she said firmly, standing up. Frodo, who hadn't been expecting it, stumbled when he rushed to be up before her. She noticed and laughed. "Frodo... a gentleman," she said slyly. "Come on, let's go in."

Frodo, whose feelings still stung slightly from her disregard of what the Gamgees thought of them (not to mention the implication that the fact that either of them had feelings for the other—not that Frodo was saying he did have feelings for her—was only a "thought" and not a fact) followed her closely into Bag End and tried to ignore the uncomfortable thought that this was not going to go well.


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX: THE THINGS WE SAY WHEN WE'RE TOO TIRED TO HAVE ANY COMMON SENSE

_Song: High Above Me by Tal Bachman_

Frodo was unused to sharing a bed, and he couldn't sleep. Faramir's body was warmer than he was used to his bed being, he held the blankets to himself in an unfamiliar way, and he breathed really, really loudly. Of course, it didn't help matters that Frodo kept rolling the afternoon over in his mind.

His family had been more forgiving than he expected when it came to ridicule. After a few remarks from Merry and Pippin and a raised-eyebrow-look from Rose, they didn't say much of anything, and invited Elanor to stay for supper.

And then Frodo had walked her home. She had done most of the talking, about supper, about the visit, about Frodo's family. Every once in a while he would make a comment about one of his siblings and she would laugh, and, by Elbereth, her laugh was beautiful. It reminded Frodo of all the things he loved about the garden: rustling leaves, running water, twittering birds, crickets chirping. It was like the incarnation of joy itself.

On his lonely way home, Frodo had decided two things: the first, he didn't know why (well, he had a theory, but it wasn't exactly detailed), but being with Elossa made him feel different, good, almost unerringly happy. The second, he'd only known her, really known her, for three days but he felt as though they'd been friends all their lives.

Frodo rolled over and shoved his face into his pillow. It was no use. He wasn't going to sleep tonight. Sighing, he clambered out of bed and padded his way to the kitchen. To his surprise, Sam was bustling around in his housecoat, boiling water for tea. "Da?" Frodo asked. "Why are you up?"

Sam looked around at his son. "I could ask the same of you, Frodo Gamgee," he pointed out, pouring the hot water into a teapot.

Frodo looked at the ground. "Couldn't sleep," he muttered.

Sam nodded. "I know what you mean. Come on, sit down, have some tea. It helps," he promised. "I would know. I'm up at night a lot."

Frodo frowned and Sam, catching the look on his face, explained. "One doesn't go to Mordor and back, Frodo, without a few haunting memories."

Frodo didn't reply, only sipped the mug of tea Sam handed him and stared off into nothing. Sam broke the silence, jarring Frodo out of his murky thoughts. "What's keeping you up, son?" he asked, looking with slight concern in his eyes at his child. Frodo hardly ever had sleep problems.

"Nothing," Frodo said self-consciously, "it's nonsense, anyways."

Sam looked at his son tenderly. "Frodo, nothing that's keeping you up at night is nonsense. Tell me. You know I'll find out anyways." Frodo laughed half-heartedly. It was true; Sam did have a knack for getting to the bottom of things.

"It's just... I can't get... it's Elossa, Da," he said with a helpless tone in his voice. "She's driving me... mad." He shook his head and put his face in his hands, embarrassed. How did I get to telling him this? Frodo thought. I never wanted to bring her up!

Sam glanced over at his son with a sly smile spreading across his face. The smile turned into a grin, then a chuckle, then an all-out laugh. He reached out and clapped Frodo on the arm. "I always knew this day would come," he said, partly proud, and partly amused, "but I never thought... Elossa Spinner, eh? A hobbit from Bree..."

"I'm serious, Da!" Frodo cried. "It's... she's... that is, I notice things about her that I never noticed about anybody else before. Like her laugh... reminds me of birds," he admitting, feeling his face flush furiously. "She treats me like an old friend. She's... interesting. I can't explain it. I don't know why she's keeping me up."

"I think I do."

"I know _that_, Da, I just don't know why I... you know... like her... like... that." Frodo finished the sentence awkwardly. The word 'like' felt foreign in his mouth, like it should be something else, something more meaningful. But the only other word he could think of didn't feel right either, not yet.

Sam put his hand on Frodo's, looking his son straight into his eyes, exactly like Sam's own. "Frodo," he began. "You aren't always going to know why you love people. What matters is that you do. And as long as you don't only like this girl because you think she's pretty, then it doesn't matter why you like her. All right?" Frodo nodded, feeling young, naive, foolish, but relieved. "Good," Sam said. "Now get some sleep, all right?" He kissed his son's hair and then nudged him towards his bedroom door.

"You're quiet, Frodo," Rubo pointed out. Morimac, Fredoc, Rubo and Frodo were sitting at their usual spot in the pub, with their usual mugs of Golden Apple ale. The pub was strangely hushed tonight, with only a few other groups of hobbits sitting around, nursing their drinks.

"'m not," Frodo mumbled.

Morimac laughed. "Yes, you are. You're thinking about someone," he said knowingly. "Who is she?"

"Who says it's a she!" Frodo asked indignantly, suddenly willing to speak up. But when Fredoc gave him a _really?_ look, Frodo gave up and admitted, "Her name is Elossa Spinner." Fredoc looked apprehensive.

"Really?" he asked. Frodo nodded. "Well, she isn't much to look at," he said. "Is she nice?"

Frodo looked with slight exasperation at Fredoc. "What do you know? She's beautiful!" he exclaimed, a little bit louder than he had intended. A few heads turned and Frodo immediately piped down. "And she's amazing. Curious. Enthusiastic. Happy. And yes, Fredoc, nice."

Rubo grinned at Frodo like he might grin at a younger brother and clapped him on the back. "You got it bad, ol' boy," he said with a smile in his voice. Frodo scoffed.

"What's that supposed to mean, eh?" he asked defensively, sipping his drink. "She's my friend, all right? Just because I'm twenty now doesn't mean..." Rubo raised his eyebrows.

"You love her."

Frodo didn't say anything. His mind was in turmoil. Was it really that obvious how he felt about her? He looked down at the table, trying to avoid meeting his friends' eyes. Suddenly, he felt hot and uncomfortable. Suddenly, there was only one person he wanted to be with—and it wasn't anybody sitting around the table. Frodo slid off his chair, leaving his mug on the table. "That's a bit of an exaggeration. I'm tired," he said quietly. "I'll see you all next week." Then he left the pub.


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN: EQUINOX AND HEARTFELT TALKS

_Song: When I'm With You by Faber Drive AND Keep Holding On by Avril Levigne_

As time passed, another weekly routine formed in Frodo's life. Every third day of the week, Elossa would drop by Bag End. She and Frodo would go to the garden, and lie on the grass or sit on the bench and simply talk. It would be about anything at all—anything. They could say anything to each other, and after a time they came to trust each other not only with trivial troubles but with deeper disturbances—like how Elossa worried about her father, and how Frodo didn't want Maradas Noakes courting Elanor.

The first week she had been the day of Faramir's arrival, and Frodo was interrogated mercilessly after she left. How long had he known her? How long had she been coming? Why hadn't Faramir heard about this girl before? Did Frodo really think she was that pretty, because really, she had nothing on his sisters... the list went on and on. After a while Frodo got fed up with Faramir and threw a pillow at him to make him be quiet.

As Elossa and Frodo grew closer and closer, she stayed for supper more and more often, and Frodo would walk her home more and more, until one day, he worked up the nerve to slip his hand gently into hers. Her fingers twitched and she glanced at him. Then she giggled, smiling.

Frodo savoured the feeling of her fingers on his, her hand, warm and slightly sweaty, his own, cold and dry. Despite the chill of the brisk day, he felt warm. He smiled back at Elossa and met her eyes, which were sparkling with something pleasant—happiness, maybe, or excitement, or laughter. He couldn't quite put a finger on it, but he liked it.

After a few minutes, Elossa spoke. "Are you going to the Equinox Dance in a couple of days?" she asked. The question was heavy with expectation.

Frodo hadn't been planning on it. The dance, which was to take place on the day when Summer turned to Autumn, would be in the Party Field, he knew. But he hadn't wanted to go until this moment, when it was strangely tempting. "Are you?" he asked. He didn't want to say yes, not yet... but with Elossa standing _right there_, he didn't want to say no, either.

"I might," she replied. "I don't know yet." She gave him a meaningful look and Frodo realized what she wanted him to do—what he, himself wanted to do, although he wasn't sure if he had the nerve. That fact made him sick with himself—did he really not have the guts to ask her to go to the dance with him? Swallowing, he decided to try.

"Er, we could go to—that is, I'll go if you do," he said nervously, his face turning pink. Why was this so hard for him? Frodo noticed they had stopped walking in the middle of the road, but their fingers were still interlocked. He had become strangely oblivious to his surroundings. He didn't feel the cold, didn't see the grass or the trees, didn't hear the everyday noises of Hobbiton. His focus was on the smile slowly spreading across Elossa's face.

"Then I'll be there," she said happily.

He nodded. "Me too." They kept walking, in a comfortable silence, until they reached Elossa's door. Her father could be seen about fifty feet away, chopping wood violently with his hatchet. He shot Frodo a friendly look (he was fond of the boy) and waved to his daughter before going back to his chore. Should he really be doing that in the dark? Frodo wondered. However, he didn't say anything.

Elossa gestured to the door. "Come in," she said. "I have something I want to show you." Frodo followed her inside. The warmth of the hole was sudden after the chill of the outdoors, and the entryway was bright compared to the imposing darkness, although still dim. Frodo followed Elossa down the hallway and into the slightly better-lit sitting room. She walked over to a nearby squat wooden dresser and opened the top drawer, pulling out an envelope made of thick creamy paper.

"What's this?" Frodo asked, furrowing his brow.

"It's a... letter," Elossa said, and her voice was slightly choked. "My mother wrote it, to me... just before she died." Her eyes were watery, and slightly red, but Frodo could tell that she didn't want to cry, she didn't want to break down, not here. Which was somewhat flattering."I didn't find it until... yesterday. And she told me she knew she was dying—she was... sick, see?—and she told me that she loved me and she was going to miss me... that she was sorry." Elossa had given up all hope of trying to keep her tears concealed by now and was crying freely. Frodo looked at her curiously. She hadn't shown much grief over her mother in all the time he had known her, but then again, they'd only spoken of her once, on the day they first met. It seemed so long ago. He had been a different person.

"I'm sorry," Elossa said awkwardly, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. "I shouldn't... this was stupid."

"Don't be," Frodo said gently, pulling her arm away from her face. "It's no crime to cry for the people we love, when they're gone." Wow, Frodo, where did _that _come from? he thought incredulously. He had never been good at comforting people—until, apparently, right now. Elossa smiled a watery smile at him.

"It's just... I don't talk about her much, not even with Da. But I had to tell somebody. And I knew you were the one person who wouldn't laugh," she explained. Frodo leaned her head towards her ear. "And it seemed like... out of anyone, you deserved to see it."

"I pity the twisted hobbit," he whispered gently, "who would laugh at you right now."

They sat like that for a long time, just barely not touching. They didn't talk, only sat side by side until Elossa's tear ducts had been apparently run dry and she stood up. It was fully dark by that time, and Frodo knew he'd be in serious trouble when he got back home, but he didn't care. He didn't care, because he loved knowing that he was part of the reason that Elossa wasn't crying anymore. He was part of the reason she could be happy again. That was better than anything in the world; that was worth being yelled at.


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT: THE WORST MISTAKE

_Song: Complicated by Avril Levigne_

The night was dark by the time all the Gamgee children(Goldilocks through Elanor—the younger ones were staying home with Rosie, because it was going to be a late night) and Faramir headed out the door of Bag End to head down to the Equinox Dance. The night was chilly, but Frodo's face was warm against the wind, flushed despite the weather. He could hear lively string music drifting up from the Party Field, and already the crowd of hobbits from around 15 to 33 was thick. Couples spun round and round under the Party Tree, friends chatted by tables laden with food and drink, a few people sat on the sidelines smoking pipes and poking fun at the people who were actually enjoying themselves. By the time they reached the Party Field Frodo had spotted Elossa.

"Are you going to go talk to her?" Faramir muttered. Frodo shrugged.

"I don't know... should I? Does she expect me to?" he asked uncertainly.

Faramir rolled his eyes. "Heck if I know. Better ask one of your multitudes of sisters. Anyways, I'd better go. I'm thinking about asking Goldilocks to dance. Think she will?"

Frodo scrunched up his nose in shock and slight disgust. "Well, yes, she will, but she's three and a half years younger than you, Faramir. Don't you think that's a bit... well... odd?"

"Eh," Faramir said nonchalantly. "My Da's five years older than my Ma. It's fine. See you then?"

Frodo nodded and slipped off through the crush of hobbits to find Elanor. It took him a while, but he found her leaning on a table, talking to Maradas. Frodo, though he didn't know the hobbit well, had distrusted him on first sight and didn't trust him now. His eyebrows seemed to be permanently raised, his mouth always twisted in a smirk or sneer. He was handsome enough, though, with hair even more golden than Uncle Pippin's, an angular face, and big green eyes. Frodo got shivers as he watched him talk to Elanor, and he didn't hesitate to break them up.

"Excuse me, Mr Noakes... I need to talk to my sister," he said firmly, enjoying somewhat the look of disappointment on Maradas' face. Elanor, equally irritated, bid farewell to the man and turned to face her little brother with an exasperated look on her face.

"What do you want, Frodo?" she asked, annoyed. _If looks could kill,_ thought Frodo,_ I'd be dead._ The thought was not exactly reassuring. "I think... well, I was in the middle of something! I think Maradas is serious, Frodo." She smiled dreamily and Frodo glared at her.

"Well, I don't trust him," he said irritably. "I wanted to ask you something. About... well, something only a sister would know," he said awkwardly. "Look, Elossa's right over there, and I think she only came because I did, I don't know, but what I'm trying to say is should I go and talk to her?"

Elanor, her previous anger forgotten, smiled at her little brother as though to say, _yes, you thick-witted dimrod, of course you should _or _are you stupid? What do _you_ think, Frodo? Does she want to talk to you, hmm_._ Well, it's a question all right!_

"Frodo, Frodo, Frodo," she said in a mock-motherly tone. "Silly, naive, little Frodo..."

"Elanor!" he snapped, impatient.

"Right, sorry," she replied. "Just do what you think she wants you to."

_Oh, thanks for the help, then, Elanor. I'll just leave you to talk Madaras McTwoTimer, then, thanks. Oh, and by the way, did you see him sweet-talking Gwell Wheatgrass only yesterday? Because I did,_ Frodo thought bitterly. But he said nothing. Irritated, he left his sister and stormed off to find Elossa. It wasn't difficult. She was standing toward the edge of the field, talking to a female hobbit that Frodo didn't recognize. Swallowing, Frodo tapped her shoulder and she swivelled around, grinning when she saw him. "Frodo," she said, satisfied, "you came."

"Of course," Frodo replied. "I said I would, didn't I?" He grinned somewhat lopsidedly at her. "It's crowded, huh?"

"Yes," she replied, frowning slightly. "Loud, too. But that's all right, I suppose. I mean, it is most of the town here," she justified. "But I'm not mad about it." Frodo nodded.

"I know what you mean," he said, and before Elossa could reply, a squat hobbit from the group playing music trotted up to them.

"This next dance is fer couples _only_," he whispered to Frodo. "You oughta ask 'er," he said with a grin. Frodo felt fear shoot through him and suddenly the night seemed to hot, his jacket too close.

The music began and Elossa looked at him expectantly. Frodo was conflicted. He wanted to ask her. He also wanted to be sick. After a long, awkward moment, Elossa said, "Well? Are you going to ask me?"

Frodo coughed. "Er... do you want me to?" Maybe he could dance with her without having to ask her. Yes, that might work.

"Well yes, I—you know what?" Elossa said, her tone changing from sweet and slightly puzzled to poisonous and angry. "Forget it. If you won't ask me yourself, then forget it, you cowardly, gutless little _snake!_"

"Elossa, I don't under—," Frodo began. She glared at him.

"I thought you were going to ask me. I thought... I thought you were man enough to at least try. I thought you felt the same way about... oh, nevermind. You clearly wouldn't understand."

"Elossa, I ..."

She had been about to turn and leave, but she spun back, her eyes fiery. "_And that's Ms Spinner to you,"_ she hissed.

With that, Elossa turned on her heel and left him standing there. Frodo could tell she was fighting tears by her tense frame, the way her face had gone red while she yelled at him.

Before he could get his wits about him and actually comprehend what had just happened, Frodo felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to see Faramir, whose eyes were twinkling with happiness and adrenaline. "Hullo, Frodo! Guess what?"

"What?" asked Frodo dully. He had a most uncomfortable sensation that his stomach was rapidly dropping down to his toes and his chest contained a quickly swelling bubble that might burst at any moment.

"Your sister and I danced togeth... Frodo, what's wrong?" Faramir asked, suddenly concerned. Normally his best friend would have been rather excited for whatever he'd been about to say, but Frodo was staring at his feet glumly.

Frodo coughed. "It's a long story. Just tell the others I've gone home, all right? I'm done." Suddenly his entire body felt heavy with fatigue, his shoulders were slumped and he couldn't be bothered to keep the muscles in his face twisted in a smile. It was just too much effort that he didn't want to put in.

"But Frodo, it's only..." Faramir trailed off at the look on Frodo's face—dejected, lonely, and a little bit confused. "Right. I'll do that. 'Night, mate."

Frodo trudged up to Bag End, trying desperately not to think. He wasn't quite sure what he'd done wrong, but Elossa was clearly pretty angry about something, and he was scared that he'd hurt her, too—she'd been crying as she walked away. Drained and stressed out, Frodo slipped into his room the moment he got home and went straight to sleep, hoping that in the morning, things might make a little more sense.


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE: SLEEP WITH YOUR EYES OPEN

_Songs: Should've Said No by Taylor Swift and Give Him Up by Faber Drive_

"Frodo! Frodo!" Frodo rolled over groggily. Somebody was jostling him and whispering in his ear. He sniffed, and smelled roses. _Elanor,_ he thought. _But what could she want? It's the middle of the night!_ Sitting up in his bed, he regarded his sister apprehensively.

"What?" he asked. "This had better be good, Elanor!" He raised his eyebrows as he awaited her answer .

"Well," Elanor began, "you know Maradas? Er, Mr Noakes? The one you aren't too fond of," she prompted. Frodo nodded. "Well, he asked me to dance with him, so I did, and then, well, we went for a short walk and... he kissed me, Frodo! He kissed me!"

Heat swelled in Frodo's stomach, eating up his insides, compelling him to hit something. "He did _what?"_ he snarled, enraged. "That stupid, manipulative, two-timing _rat!_ Where's Merry and Pip?" he asked suddenly. "Where are they?"

"Frodo? Frodo, stop it; he isn't like that, really! He's sweet," she admitted, blushing. "And I think he really does like me. Listen, I..."

"Be quiet, Elossa, where are Merry and Pippin? I need to talk to them!" Frodo wanted to scream, but he thought it would be rude. Even so, the string of furious words came out louder than he intended.

Elanor frowned. "Did you just call me Elossa? And they're in the kitchen, having some tea before bed," she told him, looking at him curiously.

"I didn't," Frodo lied, heat creeping up the back of his neck and onto his face. Before Elanor could retort, he stole out of the room and down the hallway to the kitchen, where, true to Elanor's word, Merry and Pippin were sitting, laughing amongst themselves and sipping tea from hand-painted ceramic mugs.

When they saw Frodo (and the look on his face), their expressions darkened as well. "Did Elanor tell you Maradas Noakes kissed her?" Merry shook his head.

"He _did_?" Pippin asked, a slightly animalistic growl creeping into his tone. "But I saw him—just the other day—Gwell Wheatgrass!" The speech was broken out of anger and confusion and disgust.

Frodo nodded. "I know! I want to do something about it. Grab your coats, you two. I'll meet you outside," he said determinedly. Immediately, Merry and Pippin scrambled out of their chairs. As the second-eldest males in the Gamgee household, they too felt a certain responsibility for their sisters, and the fact that Maradas Noakes had messed with Elanor had made them as angry as a chef who'd used sugar instead of salt.

The night had cooled down considerably and the cold bit at Frodo's cheeks. The wind was sharp, but the three hobbits marched on, determined. It wasn't long before they spotted two figures, one male and one female, the female leaned up against a short picketed fence, and the male's lips passionately locked on hers. It didn't take Frodo long to recognize the hated form of Maradas Noakes. "That dirty little..." Merry muttered. "I never liked him. So, Frodo, what's the plan?"

"Plan?" asked Frodo, distracted by the fire burning in his gut. "We don't need a plan. Come on, you two. I think dear Mr Noakes needs a bit of a talking to." Without waiting to see if his brothers would follow him, Frodo marched up to Maradas and unmercifully grabbed the back of his jacket and yanked him roughly away from Gwell, who scurried away, but stayed to watch what was about to happen with big, blue, curious eyes. Maradas turned and his expression was a plain mixture of shock, dismay, and anger. Anger won the emotional battle and when Maradas retaliated verbally, his exclamation was fierce.

"What was that all about?" he cried, trying to shake himself from Frodo's grip. But Merry took hold of his left arm and Pippin his right while Frodo let go and stared Maradas in the eye, a look on his face that would have made a braver hobbit than Maradas Noakes shudder.

"I think you know," Frodo hissed. "You lying, deceitful, self-concerned, slimy, slippery, hateful little maggot. You think you're a man. But I know... you're a _cheat!"_ He shouted the last word and didn't wince when it echoed across the town.

"Frodo?" Pippin asked with some concern, but Merry shushed him.

"You_ never_ lay a finger on my sister again, you hear? DON'T YOU _EVER_ TOUCH HER!" Frodo screamed. He drew his hand back involuntarily, but stopped himself just before he struck the hobbit's face.

Maradas kept his face straight. "I don't know what you're talking about," he whispered, turning his face away from Frodo's. "Absolutely no idea..."

"Liar," Merry spat.

"You kissed my sister tonight," Frodo said, some of his calm restored. His voice was dangerously soft and even his two brothers were slightly frightened. This was a terrifyingly protective side of Frodo that they'd never seen before, but the way he was completely scaring Maradas yet keeping himself in control was admired by them. When Maradas shook his head, Frodo added, "I know you did, so there's no point in lying, you pathetic little..." he didn't finish the sentence. "And you know she likes you. You don't care. You just think she's gorgeous. And you wanted a little bit of fun, didn't you, Maradas?" Frodo asked.

Thoroughly scared now, Maradas nodded.

"But you forgot Elanor had three brothers who might hear about it. And who might have seen you with Ms Wheatgrass. Who might have gotten a little hacked off about you playing games with their sister," Pippin added.

"You don't go near her again," Frodo said calmly, "you don't ever, ever get involved with Elanor again, and we'll let you walk away and have Gwell. Though, now she knows the kind of dishonourable toad you are, I'm not sure she'll have you."

Maradas frowned at Frodo. "Frodo. Don't tell me you never... I mean, I tell you this as a friend, I didn't mean any harm, really. Who are you to tell a fellow he can't have a bit of fun?"

"You're a scumbag, Maradas. And if I see you near Elanor again, it'll be my Da coming down here, not just us. So bugger off and have your 'fun' with some other girl," Frodo said. Merry and Pippin let go of Maradas' arms and he fell backwards onto the fence with a yelp. Then the three brothers turned and walked away, leaving Maradas to deal with Gwell by himself.

Frodo was lost in thought as they walked home. He had thought the excuse to protect his sister, to take out a little of his frustration and anger and confusion on somebody deserving of it, like Maradas Noakes, would make him feel a little better. If anything, it made him feel a thousand times worse. It seemed like every home they passed, every mailbox, every sign made him remember a conversation, a moment of eye contact, what she had been wearing, how he'd felt when he was walking with... he didn't let himself think her name. He had to keep her out of his mind, but it was so hard. He couldn't stop himself from wondering what exactly he'd done wrong, why exactly she'd stormed off like that, how exactly much she hated him right now. He told himself he hated her for invading his mind, hated her for having this control over him. But he couldn't bring himself to believe it.

All Frodo wanted was to sleep, but when he arrived home Elanor was waiting for him, tears staining her beautiful face. "How could you?" she asked. "What did you do to him? He only kissed me... that's all he did."

"Yes, but Elanor, when we went out to ask him about it, you know what he was doing?" Merry asked her pointedly. Elanor shook her head. "He was kissing Gwell Wheatgrass," Merry said, answering his own question. "And he deserved everything we did, although you can rest yourself assured that we didn't hurt your precious Maradas Noakes," he added bitterly.

"Lay off, Merry," Frodo said suddenly, noticing the hurt shock in Elanor's eyes. "Elanor, I'm sorry, really. But you do need to be careful. Not everybody's nice, and a lot of hobbits only look at you because you're beautiful. Let somebody get to know you." He drew his now sobbing sister into a comforting hug. "It's all right," he whispered. "Maradas won't be tricking you again. I promise."


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN: AFTER THE FACT

_Song: The Writer by Ellie Goulding_

Frodo woke up the next morning impossibly drained. Emotionally, mentally, and physically. He only wanted to lay in bed. But just as he was getting comfortable again, he realized that it was the third day of the week, which made him remember the night before. After that, Frodo knew there was no getting back to sleep. A single question resounded in his mind:_ will Elossa come?_ A sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach told Frodo that he probably knew the answer.

Glumly, Frodo sat up, dressed, and walked down the hallway to Elanor's room. He wanted to talk to her. The faded yellow door to her bedroom was closed, so he gently knocked. After some time, the door swung open and Frodo stepped into the room.

He had only been in his sister's room once before, when he was very young and he'd hidden in there from her. It was a pleasant room, with honey-coloured wooden floors, a large round window, and it was relatively tidy. Elanor sat on her unmade bed and gestured for Frodo to sit beside her. Her eyes were slightly red but she smiled at him. "Good morning," she said.

"You too," Frodo replied, absent-minded. "I want to ask you something."

"What's that?" Elanor asked. Her voice was quieter than usual, but she seemed genuinely interested and hadn't brought up the incident the night before, so Frodo went on.

"Well," he began, "I think Elossa might hate me. And I don't know why. That is, I only hesitated asking her to dance last night. It isn't as though I said no or anything. But she just stormed off. You're a girl. You tell me why," he insisted.

Elanor thought for a moment and then said, "Well, what exactly happened? That was sort of vague, Frodo." She looked at him with a furrowed brow and Frodo tried to decide exactly what to tell her. Eventually he chose everything. After all, Elanor was his sister, and his kindest one. She probably wouldn't make fun of him...

"Well, it was couples dance," he answered, not meeting his sister's eye. "And I... I'm trying to work up the guts to ask her, see. And after a few moments she says, 'Are you going to ask me or not?' and I say, 'Do you want me to?' So she gets all angry, and I tell her I don't know what she's talking about and she replies, 'I thought you were going to ask me. I thought you were man enough at least to try. I thought you felt the same way about... oh, nevermind. You clearly wouldn't understand.'" It was remarkable how the words she'd said so sharply stuck in Frodo's mind, as though burned there like acid. "I don't know... I mean, she's obviously mad I didn't ask her directly, but why is it such a big deal? Ugh," Frodo sighed. "All women are completely mad."

Elanor looked at Frodo for a very long time before she chuckled, breaking into a genuine smile. "Frodo, it's obvious, isn't it? You made her think you didn't want to dance with her, and you hurt her. She's obviously mad for you. How do you think she felt watching all those people dancing and you couldn't ask her? But of course she wouldn't say so. So she stormed off. She's not mad, she's probably really upset. I can't believe you," she said in a shocked voice. "Could you honestly not figure that out?"

"No!" Frodo cried desperately. "The whole thing seems blown out of proportion!"

"Well, yes," Elanor admitted. "But that's how it usually is with girls. Good luck!" She stood up and gestured for Frodo to leave the room. He almost did so, but then he stopped.

"Wait a moment... good luck with what?" he asked, puzzled. Elanor looked at him as though it were supposed to be obvious.

She said, "Well, with going to talk to her, of course. You are going to, right?"

Frodo rolled his eyes. "Of course I am." In reality, the thought made his insides go cold with fear. Just as he left the room, he turned back once more and looked at his sister. "Hey," he began. "Are you going to be all right?" She nodded with a watery smile and Frodo smiled back. At least one person's romantic troubles had been mostly worked out.

The rest of the day was sluggish and dull. Frodo spent most of it distracted, thinking about what he would say when he did go and talk to Elossa, which, he had by now realized, was inevitable. He wanted desperately to see her, but at the same time he was slightly irritated with her for making such a big deal out of something so small. In the end, his yearning to simply talk to her won out and he decided that he would go see her as soon as possible if she didn't come that evening.

She didn't come. Frodo hadn't been expecting her to, but it still hit him below the belt, and he was somewhat quieter than usual that night. While the other Gamgees loudly discussed the day, he was lost in thought. After excusing himself from the table, Frodo went outside and sat in the garden. It was dark already, and cold, too. There was no moon; clouds had crept over the sky and it smelled of rain. Frodo didn't really care. He was trapped in his head and unaware of the biting wind, the threatening rainfall, the night so dark he could barely distinguish apple tree from birdbath.

He sat out there until his fingers went numb, trying desperately to clarify his thoughts. In the end, he only came up with three concrete ideas. The first: tomorrow night he was supposed to meet Morimac, Fredoc and Rubo at the pub. The second: tomorrow, he wanted to talk to Elossa. The third: tomorrow, he was stuck babysitting the littles with Rose and Elanor all day. Merry and Pippin would be of no help, as they were spending the day with one of their closest friends, a seventeen-year-old hobbit named Siam Overhill, in Bywater. Goldilocks would be with her parents, who were to be attending the opening (finally) of the new wheat mill, meaning they would likely be gone from first breakfast to supper, as there was to be a party for the builders afterwards that would likely last for hours.

Frodo was entirely conflicted about the whole thing. He wanted to see Elossa, explain, do _something_, but he was terrified it would turn into another upset, that he'd do something idiotic that she'd misinterpret as his not caring... when, really, he couldn't have cared more. He was somewhat glad of the excuse for another day to plan out scenarios in his head, to prepare himself a little more for what he was sure was going to be rather an ordeal, but he knew he would drive himself mental the entire day, wishing he was with Elossa, not his family.

Needless to say, he wasn't looking forward to it.


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN: QUIET, RESTLESS, EVEN FOR YOU

_Song: Pardon Me by He is We_

Frodo absent-mindedly rolled the small wooden ball back to Tom, who giggled his two-year-old gurgly laugh. He had been doing this for nearly thirty minutes, and he was beginning to wish that he'd refused to take care of his siblings all day. The task was mind-numbingly dull.

Rose and Elanor were sitting, trying to settle the others down. The youngest ones would nap soon, and the others would be sent off to entertain themselves to provide their unwilling babysitters with a short break.

Once all the children had been calmed down, and the older ones sent into the garden to play, Frodo sat down, weary, beside his sisters. "Whew," he sighed. "I'm glad that's over," he lied. In reality, he wished he'd still been occupied. Entertaining his siblings, at least, meant he didn't have time to think about every second he wasn't at Elossa's house, making things right.

Nobody said anything for a very long time. Rose went about her sewing, Elanor got up and made a pot of tea, which nobody drank, much to her disappointment, and Frodo got up and started pacing. Rose, after watching him for some time, said, with concern in her voice, "Are you all right, Frodo? You're restless... and quiet, even for you. What's going on?" she asked him.

"Nothing," he said, too quickly. He gave Elanor a meaningful look, but she ignored it and stepped in, to Frodo's dismay.

"He's fine. He's only thinking about how he ought to be at Elossa's right now, making things all better after the other night, instead of babysitting his little brothers and sisters. Aren't you, Frodo?" she asked rhetorically.

"Oh, be quiet, Elanor," Frodo snapped, tense. Did they really have to talk about this now? It was bad enough that he couldn't manage to wedge Elossa from his mind for thirty seconds, did he really have to talk about her, too? He hated this feeling, of being caged in. He hated the longing. He hated that she could do this to him. She was just another hobbit, wasn't she? She couldn't affect him any more than anybody else could.

In his heart, Frodo knew he was lying to himself. Elossa was so much more to him than just another hobbit. The fact of the matter drove him mad (he'd never asked to love her), but at the same time the feeling, when it worked out, anyways, was so gloriously wonderful, _she _was so gloriously wonderful, that it seemed worth the nervousness, the stress, the fluttering in his stomach.

"Touchy, are we?" Rose asked Frodo. "You needn't be. We all know you're in love with her, so there's no need to get defensive," she explained.

Frodo laughed in spite of himself. "All right, all right. Maybe I'd rather be with her than here, playing Da to ten little siblings. And maybe she just happens to be absolutely remarkable. But I refuse to state that I am or am not in love with her. That happens to be confidential information." _Translation,_ he thought to himself. _You've no idea whether you love her or not. _

After that little conversation Frodo zoned out again and went back on autopilot, lost in his own thoughts. The time passed both impossibly sluggishly and strangely fast, so it seemed like a thousand years had passed in thirty minutes by the time Sam and Rosie were home and the Gamgees were sitting down to a late supper.

The smells of the thick, savoury stew wafted up into the air and made Frodo hungrier than he already was. He was more himself again and as he buttered a warm slice of crusty bread he joined in the animated family conversation. Today, they were discussing the upcoming winter. "It's supposed to be a harsh one," Rosie told her husband, passing him his bowl. "Lots of snow."

Sam looked unhappy. "That'll be bad for the roses," he said, slightly worried, "but the runoff'll be good for the farmers' crops, as long as there ain't too much."

"It'll be fine," Frodo reassured his father. "Roses are hardier than they look. And winter can't last forever, can it? Spring'll come. It always does. Doesn't it?"

Sam sighed. "I suppose. I still don't like it, though," he said decisively. "Not a bit! The roses had a tough dry summer, they don't need a hard winter, too."

"You talk about them like they're people, Da," Hamfast teased. "They're only roses."

"Don't bug him, Hamfast," Frodo reprimanded his brother, "he's tired."

"Yes, _Hamfast_," Faramir added, "he's _tired!"_

The conversation went on like this for some time until the meal was over. After thanking his mother for the meal, Frodo stepped out into the chilly evening, on his way to the pub. Frost crunched underneath his feet. It was abnormally cold, even for late fall, and he was glad of the warmth of the pub when he stepped inside. His friends were waiting and they gestured him over to where they sat, already drinking and talking heartily.

Frodo sat himself next to Morimac. The group was laughing over something Frodo hadn't heard, so he had time to compose himself and plaster a grin on his face before they greeted him. "How was your week, Frodo?" Rubo asked. Frodo shrugged.

"All right," he lied. "Yours?"

"I think Morimac's was better," he said pointedly. Morimac, whose face went red, elbowed him and Fredoc chuckled. Frodo eyed the three apprehensively.

"All right, you three," Frodo began, "What on earth is going on?" he demanded, wincing when he realized he sounded a lot like his father.

"Oh, you haven't told him, have you, Morimac? Oh, well... her _own brother, _I am ashamed of you!" Fredoc mocked his friend, who glared at him. Fredoc turned to Frodo. "Well, since my friend is obviously not going to tell you himself, he believes he's falling in _love! _With your sister Rose, no less."

"Well, I think that is a bit of an exaggeration," Morimac protested, but Frodo was laughing now, his troubles momentarily forgotten, caught up in what he'd originally loved about this place, these hobbits. That they made you forget you'd ever been anywhere else.

It didn't last long, unfortunately. After Morimac explained what had happened between Rose and himself a few days ago at the Dance, Frodo fell back into that gloomy state of mind he'd been in for days. It took his friends a while to notice, but when they did, Rubo said abruptly, "You're quiet, Frodo. You need to talk to somebody."

Frodo frowned. He wasn't an open book, was he? He couldn't be that easy to read. But Morimac added, "Yes, you clearly don't want to be here."

"Leave!" Fredoc cried. "We're kicking you out until you fix whatever's bugging you. You're no fun this way, Frodo."

Confused, slightly insulted, but mostly relieved, Frodo slid off his chair with only one thought dominating his mind: he had time. He had time to tear across Hobbiton and see Elossa before his parents expected him home. Without hesitating, Frodo flew out the door. "Thank you!" he cried, but he thought afterward that his friends had been laughing at him too loudly to hear.


	12. Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE: UNDER THE STARS

_Songs: Just a Kiss by Lady Antebellum and Are You Gonna Kiss Me Or Not by Thompson Square_

It didn't take Frodo long to arrive at Elossa's house. The windows were still lit, to his relief. He took a moment to catch his breath before knocking on the door. To his dismay, it was Elossa's father who answered. He wasn't a particularly large man, but his eyes were angry-looking. "Excuse me, sir," Frodo asked, trying to keep a straight face. "I need to speak with... your daughter," he finished rather breathlessly. He still hadn't quite recovered from sprinting over from the pub, so his breath was short, and his mind slightly rattled, his thoughts disconnected.

"I'm to tell you she doesn't want to see you, Mr Gardner, I'm sorry. But that's the fact," the man said, stepping inside and beginning to close the door, to Frodo's dismay. He could tell the man was sorry about shutting him out (he had been genuinely fond of the boy), but that he knew what his daughter would say if he let Frodo in. Needless to say, the man looked rather conflicted, but he had made his choice and the door was nearly closed before Frodo could say anything.

"No, wait!" Frodo cried. "Tell her... tell her it'll be different this time. I promise," he added, for good measure. Reluctantly, the man nodded and slipped back into his house. Frodo felt awkward waiting outside, listening to the chirping of the birds that hadn't left for winter yet. Although the night had warmed up slightly after the wind died down, it was still autumn, and Frodo's breath misted in the air. Finally, the door opened again, and Elossa, her hair tangled, her eyes burning with anger but red, too, as though she'd been crying. She regarded Frodo as though he were a pathetic half-drowned rat that a pet cat had left on her doorstep.

"What are you doing here?" she snapped. "I thought you'd made your choice!" Her voice sounded hurt, and a pang went through Frodo's stomach. It was incredible how such a small misinterpretation could affect somebody.

"Elossa, you're being stupid. I'm sorry, all right? I'm sorry I'm such a coward and it took me so long to figure out how to ask the best thing I've ever had to dance with me! I'm sorry you can't see what everybody else does, that I've missed you like crazy and you'll drive me mad one of these days but I can't forget about you," Frodo cried, irritated. _Please let nothing go wrong now,_ he prayed. He was _this close! _

"I'll do it right this time," he said more quietly. He stuck out his hand for her to take. "Will you dance with me? I really was going to ask you," he added, almost desperately.

She took his hand, but she didn't accept his offer. She threw her other arm around him and leaned her head against his chest, muttering, "I thought you didn't care."

"Are you kidding me?" Frodo asked. "I care more than you know."

It was then that he realized that they'd unconsciously backed away from the door, that they were closer now to the fence than the house. Frodo also realized that they were standing very, very close to one another and Elossa's lips were so very, very tempting and suddenly he wanted very much to know what they felt like and she smelled of all his favourite flowers and had her eyes always been saying, _kiss me, you coward?_

As always, a thousand misgivings popped up in Frodo's mind, but he'd finally learned to block them out, so it was without hesitation that he did lean in, and he did kiss her. He did it, to his utter shock, and he was glad he'd ignored ever nagging doubt. The reality was so much better than he could ever have imagined.

Her lips were sweet and soft and perfect and amazing and everything he had ever thought they would be and felt like heaven against Frodo's own. She tasted ever so slightly of something tangy and sweet that Frodo didn't recognize, but he liked it. Frodo couldn't help but lean into the kiss slightly. He was still holding her hands, his were sweaty, and hers were, too. He wasn't keeping track of time. A million years passed in a second. Seconds took decades. Everything was gone except for him and Elossa. It was the best feeling in the world. It was like everything that had ever made him happy, condensed into this moment, this feeling, emotionally and physically overwhelming him. He wouldn't have traded this kiss for the world.

Even after they pulled away, and Elossa muttered, "oh, my..." and Frodo murmured the same thing, they stood there for a very long time, just holding each other. Not talking, not kissing, not even thinking, really, only standing underneath the crisp fall stars and enjoying the feeling of total happiness.

The stars glittered overhead, the moon shone somewhere far away. The air smelled of fallen leaves and rain. The entire scene was like something from a romance story that he used to gag at when he was a boy—the stories he only now understood. The stories that had only now begun to make sense.

Frodo stared into her eyes, and remembered how, even when he first met her, he thought they were remarkably blue. "You know," he told her, "When I first met you, the first thing I noticed was how blue your eyes are. After the fact that you were sitting on my bench—our bench, now-, that is." It was only then that Frodo realized it had been what seemed like ages since he thought of that bench as his own. When had that happened? He couldn't recall.

"Really?" she asked. He nodded. "Well, the first thing _I _noticed about _you_ was that you weren't where you were supposed to be. That you weren't average." She laughed, and Frodo did, too, for a long time. It was so true, and it seemed so typical of Elossa to notice not what he looked like, or what he said, but where he was, who he was.

"I like that," she told him.


	13. Epilogue

EPILOGUE: HOW DO YOU KNOW?

_Song: Forever and Ever by He is We_

"Da, what did it feel like when you realized you were in love with Ma?"

Frodo and Sam are the only ones awake. Frodo has just returned from the best night of possibly his life, certainly his recent memory. His body feels charged, and he couldn't sleep if he wanted to. He can still remember what it was like having to leave Elossa on her porch, because he clearly couldn't stay. He can still, if he concentrates, feel her lips pressed onto his and at the thought of it he smiles and his face goes red. He feels as though he can fly. Do anything. He wants to keep it private, but he wants to entire world to feel like he does, better than he's ever felt. Because for the first time, he is absolutely certain of Elossa. Certain she feels exactly the same way about him that he does about her, certain she isn't angry with him, certain that for now, at least, she is his and he is hers and they are each others' and everything is perfect.

"I don't think I need to tell you that, Frodo," Sam says, a very honest tone in his voice. He is looking at his son with pride, but also a slight sadness. He can see the change in Frodo. And he loves him, but he senses that his son doesn't belong fully to him and Rosie anymore. That he belongs to somebody else now. "I think you already know. I think you're feeling how I felt all those years ago right now."

Frodo laughs exuberantly, unable to hold it in any longer. "Really? This... this is how it feels?" He leans back in his chair. "Wow..." He sighs contentedly. "Wow." He is absolutely astonished.

"It's great, isn't it? Being in love," Sam says.

"But how do you know I am?" Frodo asks.

"Well," Sam begins. "I can see it in your eyes. They're bright. They aren't focused. You're thinking about her, the Spinner girl. And when you're with her, you're different. So there's that. But you've never been this happy before, Frodo. Never." He looks at his son for a long, long time. "And you kissed her tonight."

"How do you know?" Frodo inquires.

"Because I've been in the exact same position you're in right now. The night I asked your mother to marry me, twenty-three years ago. I know how it feels. Now I want you to promise me something; you aren't going to sleep tonight, are you?" Frodo shook his head. "Good," Sam says decidedly. "Then I want you to go out into the garden, lie on the grass, and enjoy this."

And that's exactly what Frodo does.


End file.
